Do I Need You?
by Tamashi.no.Koe
Summary: Obviously, Yuuta doesn't need his Aniki. Obviously.


_**Do I need You?**_

* * *

He runs.

Under faint starlight he runs, sweating and choking from the thick smoke that has entered his lungs, burning the tender tissue. He stumbles as he runs, tripping over cracks in the dimly lit sidewalk, stepping onto sharp stones. His feet are sore. He is wearing no shoes, for he had no time to retrieve any before he left the house. Beneath his torn socks, his soles are bleeding.

His name is Fuji Yuuta, and he runs because electricity to his neighborhood has been cut due to a defective power line, so there is no hope of finding a functioning telephone.

He runs because he needs help.

He runs because someone he knows must not die.

He runs, above all, because there is still hope, and he will break both legs and burst his chest before he gives up that hope.

_A little longer, Aniki,_ he thinks as he pants, his weak body lurching forwards in the general direction of the nearest fire department. _Wait a little longer_.

There is an eerie glow looming from behind, casting a blurry shadow in front of him. Even though he is further from the source of that glow with every step, the shadow grows sharper, not dimmer. He knows what that glow is. He knows that the wooden house he calls his home is feeding that glow. He also knows who is inside the house, and that is why he runs.

"Fire!" he yells desperately as he nears the fire station, out of breath and his throat sore, his limbs all but yielding under his weight. "Fire!"

He tears through the glass doors to the building. There is still light coming from the inside. The attendant sitting behind the reception desk jumps up in alarm, spilling the cup of coffee in his hand. Yuuta doesn't notice. "Fire—house on fire—Aniki—still inside—help—"

Apparently the attendant has been on the job many years, and has heard of many fires, for he is not alarmed. With a crisp nod, he asks for Yuuta's address, scribbling it down while pressing a button on the table top. The button is bright red, and somewhere else inside the building, an alarm sounds.

His legs give way, and Yuuta collapses onto the floor. Already he hears the distant scream of a fire truck's siren, and he knows help is on its way.

_Wait, Aniki. Wait a little longer_.

After relaying the address to the dispatched firemen the attendant looks up and is taken aback to see Yuuta standing once again. He starts to say something, but Yuuta does not hear, having staggered out the heavy glass doors, through which he sees the attendant mouth, "You should rest."

But he does not rest. Instead, he runs. Through nausea, through unbearable weariness, fear presents itself, driving him back to the place he came from. For even at this distance, he can see the glow and hear the crackling of lashing flames that he knows is shooting up from his roof, eating up his house with a terrible hunger.

Through the streets he has just passed, the corners around which he has already skidded once before, he runs back home on legs that are much too slow. When he gets back, he decides with resolution, he will go inside. He doesn't care that the firemen will be there. There is a chance that they do not know his brother is still inside. Even if they know, they are not sure which part of the house he is trapped in. They are not sure how to save him. Even Yuuta is not sure how he will do that.

But if there is one thing Yuuta _is_ sure of, it is this:

His Aniki must not die.

"Aniki!"

* * *

It is summer and Yuuta is ten. When he hears the front door closing, he runs down the stairs of his two story home, hurrying to the door to greet his favorite sibling. He has been told that there should not be favoritism between siblings, but he does not care. His Aniki is his best friend in the whole world.

"Kon'nichiwa, Yuu-chan." Syusuke puts down the heavy tennis bag slung over his shoulder and takes off his shoes. Yuuta tries to lift the bag; he wants to help take it upstairs, because he knows his Aniki is tired. The bag is much too weighty and large for him, though, and he trips along the way.

"Gomen!" he wails, frightened of having damaged his brother's prized tennis rackets. With his little hands he awkwardly feels inside it for broken pieces and dusts it off.

"Yuu-chan! Are you hurt?" Syusuke does not seem interested in the rackets. He is kneeling beside Yuuta, concerned. He looks his little brother over, and is finally satisfied that there are no scratches or bruises. At last, he smiles. "Be more careful, ne, Yuu-chan?"

Relieved that his Aniki is not angry, Yuuta nods and smiles back.

Taking back his bag, Syusuke goes upstairs to his room, and Yuuta follows. There, Yuuta bombards his brother with questions about the tennis tournament which he knows Syusuke has just participated in—and won.

Syusuke sits down on the rug beside his bed, Yuuta in front of him. He describes how he was up against an opponent with a strong, fast serve, too heavy for him to return. He describes how he retreated to well behind the service line, where the whizzing ball heading towards him is just a little bit slower. He describes how he executed a drop shot, and when his opponent returned it, how he hit a lob and won that point. He takes out a piece of paper, sketches on it a tennis court and explains to Yuuta exactly how he won the match by positioning himself correctly.

Yuuta listens eagerly. He is attentive for his Aniki's every word. He listens, and wishes he could do those things his Aniki tells him of, for that is one of the reasons why he admires his older brother so.

_I wish I could be like Aniki._

Yuuta wishes that he could play tennis.

* * *

"I don't want to play tennis!"

Yuuta is eleven and hugely disappointed. He tosses his racket away in disgust, sitting down heavily onto his bed.

He has just come back from his weekly tennis lesson and he never wants to return. Why can't he be more like Aniki, he wonders? He has been swinging his racket, doing sidesteps, running laps and grinding out push-ups for months now, and he is no closer to Syusuke's standards than he was all those months before. He is tired, sweaty and his muscles ache. He has tried and toiled with no results.

He is beginning to think he is wasting his time.

"Maa…" Syusuke enters the room. He picks up Yuuta's discarded racket off the floor. "Maa, you need to be patient, Yuu-chan. It takes time to learn to play well."

"But it takes too _much_ time!" Yuuta complains, though he accepts back his racket and stuffs it roughly back into his bag. "I bet, when you first learned, Aniki, you were much better than I am now—"

"When I first learned," Syusuke says gently, "I wasn't very good either. In fact, I don't think I made as much progress in the first few months as you have already." He smiles and sits down beside Yuuta, taking Yuuta's racket back out again to inspect its strings. "Ne, I think you have a lot more flair for tennis than I do, Yuu-chan."

Yuuta nods his thanks.

He knows Syusuke is lying.

He also knows that Syusuke is lying so that Yuuta will feel better.

It is because of this that he accepts the lie mutely, for this is how he knows his Aniki cares for him.

"All right. I guess I still want to play tennis."

* * *

Yuuta doesn't care about tennis. Not now. While he is running, all he can think of is Aniki. He thinks back on when he was much younger, and they two were much closer.

He remembers how he adored his Aniki, how he always saw only the best intentions out of Syusuke's actions.

And now, knowing that Syusuke is inside a fiery infernal and most likely inches away from death, he wonders why, as he grew up, he stopped seeing that way.

* * *

"My name is Fuji _Yuuta_!"

His temper very short, Yuuta barely stops himself from shouting.

The boy from his class, with whom he had just been talking to, turns around after starting to leave. "Is it? Oh. Sorry." And then he really leaves.

Yuuta seethes. The boy is not sorry, and the next time they cross paths, the boy will once again call out to him: "Oi! Fuji Syusuke's little brother!"

Yuuta knows, because it has happened so many times before.

Huffing indignantly—his name wasn't _that_ hard to remember, was it?—he tried to shake off the memories of that unpleasant boy and reverts to his original goal—obtaining a form from the school office so that he could enroll himself into Seigaku's Boys' Tennis Club. With a reflexive 'arigatou' to the secretary behind the tall office desk, he accepts the sheet of paper and digs a pen out of his schoolbag. Standing in a corridor, he does his best to fill in the form using the wall as a makeshift table. The form is complicated.

"Fuji!"

Yuuta looks over his shoulder and for the first time all day, grins happily. "Momo-chan!"

A tall boy with spiky black hair approaches, a laid back swagger in his step. Momoshiro Takeshi is possibly Yuuta's favorite person in school, besides his brother. "Whatcha doing?"

Gesturing at the form, Yuuta shrugs helplessly. "I'm trying to fill this in. Having some trouble, though."

Momoshiro peers curiously at the paper in Yuuta's hands. "Oh, you're joining the tennis club?" He grins. "I joined up already. Did this just yesterday. They ask a hell of a lot, don't they?"

Yuuta nods. "Can you help me out?"

"Of course!" Momoshiro eagerly agrees. "You're one of my club's senpai's little brother! 'Course I'll help!" He reaches for the form, but Yuuta jerks it away. "Eh?"

"Never mind," Yuuta says tonelessly. "I'll do it by myself." And he walks away, leaving a very bewildered Momoshiro scratching his head. Yuuta rounds a corner, and then stops. Frustration curls his lips into an ugly expression, and he slams a fist against the concrete wall beside him.

It hurts his hand a lot.

But it doesn't hurt enough to prevent Yuuta from using that same hand to crumple up the application form and toss it into a garbage can in a nearby classroom. Having lost interest in the tennis team for the day, he leaves the school building. However, he can't help but pass by the courts on his way out, and the sight of other students practicing draws his eyes.

"Yuu-chan?" It is Syusuke, and he is trotting over to Yuuta, beaming. "Have you handed in the application yet?"

Yuuta looks away and mumbles something. "I…I don't think I'll do it today," he says at last.

Syusuke looks disappointed. "Why not?" Then, he catches sight of Yuuta's hand, the knuckles still red from impact with the wall. "Yuu-chan? Your hand! Are you injured?"

With a start, Yuuta glances at his hand as well. It is his left hand. "Uh…it hurts a little." Which isn't a total lie.

"Oh, then of course you can't join practice today," Syusuke says understandingly. "Does it hurt a lot, Yuu-chan? Do you need to see a doctor?" Yuuta can see his Aniki is worried, because he isn't smiling.

"No, I just…hit something. I'll be okay after a bit, I think. I…I just want to go home now." Already the marks on his skin are fading, as does the persuasiveness of his excuse for not enrolling into the tennis club. He feels guilty about misleading his Aniki. But it is not enough to make him go back to the office and ask for another form.

Luckily, Syusuke doesn't question him. "All right, then. I'll see you later."

And Yuuta departs.

And he realizes something.

He realizes that he will never join Seigaku's Boys' Tennis team.

* * *

"Yuuta…did you get a new haircut?"

Yuuta is twelve and is ignoring Syusuke. He strides straight past his Aniki and heads for his room, thinking that such an inane question doesn't deserve an answer anyway. Any idiot—provided he wasn't completely blind—could see that he'd changed his hairstyle. Gone were the brown curls that had once been characteristic of him within his family—everyone else had relatively straight hair—replaced by a simple crew cut. He knew his mother and sister would not approve, but privately Yuuta liked this new cut. He thought it made him look older, tougher. It gave him a completely new self-image.

He needed that new image because next week, he would be attending St. Rudolph Middle School, and not Seigaku. He would be meeting new people and this time he would not have the liability of always being underestimated initially because of a ridiculously juvenile hairstyle which made everyone else think he was some sort of useless pretty boy.

Hopefully, this time round, his new school would take him seriously.

* * *

Yuuta is thirteen, a year after he transferred to St. Rudolph. He is now a Second Year and very happy. He has just become a tennis team regular, and will be playing his first official inter-school match the next day.

"Yuuta?"

Looking up from the homework he was contemplating at his desk in his room, Yuuta sees both his brother and sister at the door. "Nii-san," he acknowledges her questioningly. "…Aniki."

"We heard you're going to play in a tennis match tomorrow," Yumiko explained, smiling proudly at him and making him smile back. "Would it be nice if Syusuke and I came to cheer for you?"

Yuuta stiffened, unsure of how to answer. He wouldn't mind if his sister were there. He wants her to see the fruits of his labors, and to see him win. But his brother?

Yuuta thinks this over carefully. No, he does not want Syusuke to attend. It would be suggestive, he thinks, and onlookers might speculate that his Aniki somehow had a hand in helping Yuuta train or something. And Yuuta would like to make it very plain: whatever his achievements—or lack thereof—Syusuke had no part in it.

Except, he couldn't exactly say that Yumiko could come but Syusuke couldn't. It would be rude and his sister would lecture him about it. Yuuta was beginning to wish he hadn't come home for the weekend.

Finally, he reluctantly decided that he would rather they both see the match, as opposed to neither seeing it. "Yeah…that would be cool." At least, if he won—_when_ he won—he would have a perfect opportunity to show his brother how far he had come on his own. Yuuta would be sending him a very clear message: he didn't need his Aniki's help.

"Saa!"

Much to Yuuta's irritation, it is Syusuke who is so annoyingly delighted.

"We'll make sure we're on time, Yuuta! Rest up tonight and get lots of sleep. You'll need your strength tomorrow." His Aniki's cheery voice grates Yuuta's ears, though if someone asks, Yuuta would not be able to explain why.

Aware of Yumiko's presence, Yuuta turns his back on the door before rolling his eyes. He mumbles something incoherent, and returns to his homework.

* * *

The burning house comes into view and the running is almost over. Yuuta is glad—each step on his bruised and bleeding feet causes him pain. But above that, he is glad because now he is close enough to see the water spraying though windows into his some, and the front door swinging wide after the firemen broke in.

_They're coming, Aniki. Just another minute._

* * *

"Game and match! To Matsuda of Akiyama Middle School!" The referee's announcement echoes about the stands.

It is still Yuuta's second year in St. Rudolph. He has just finished his first match as a regular and he has lost.

_What…?_ He stands, frozen on the court, his hand hanging limply beside him. His racket drops to the ground without him noticing. He stares at the scores and cannot believe his eyes, or his ears, which are filled with the cheers of Akiyama supporters.

He cannot accept that he has been defeated.

Picking up his fallen racket he returns to the benches, still feeling as though he were watching the scene from somewhere outside his own body. Every step he takes is dreamlike. Nightmarish.

"Tough luck, ne, Fuji?" His teammates pat him on the back with reserved sympathy. He can tell they are not really paying attention. They are more concerned about the next match. To them, it does not matter that his personal debut into the tennis circle has been a total disaster. To them, it does not matter that _he_ has lost.

With a cursory grunt of acknowledgement, he crashes down onto the bench, shoving his hands into his pockets. His eyes narrow.

"Yuuta! Don't mind, ne?"

Only slits remain of his steely brown pupils. A sneer crawls onto his face and he makes no effort to wipe it off.

"Yuuta! You already played wonderfully today!"

Again, his Aniki is lying, like years before. Unlike years before, Yuuta does not feel that he is being cared for. Whipping around in his seat, he flings a murderous glower at the stands behind him. For a moment, he can see himself reflected in clear blue eyes, snarling, wild, and powerless.

Then he has to look away, because he doesn't want his Aniki to see him crying.

* * *

A few months later, there are no more tears. There are no more glares, and there are no more words.

"Yuuta?"

Before the battered practice wall, Yuuta swings his racket yet again, delivering a solid, iron-clad stroke. The equally battered ball streaks back after a glancing bounce. He bends his knees and prepares himself like he has many, many times that day, the day before, and the day before. His stance is impeccable. His swing is flawless.

He is teaching himself a new technique. It is called Rising. Yuuta is determined to make it is own, because it is one of the few things his Aniki can't do. Or hasn't done, in any case. It is important to Yuuta that he does not make the same mistake as the Echizen brat that will be playing on his Aniki's team soon, in the upcoming tournament. He will not become the shadow clone of the one he aims to beat. He can only be what his Aniki is not.

"Yuuta?"

He misses the ball. It shoots past him in a blur that his sweat-blinded eyes haven't a prayer of keeping up with.

"Yuuta, it's getting late. Aren't you tired?"

He wipes the moisture roughly off his face, taking out another ball. His legs shake as he positions himself.

"Yuuta, please don't overexert yourself."

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Yuuta snaps before he can rein in the impulse. Tossing the ball high, he smashes it down, scowling. What does his Aniki know about overexertion? What does his Aniki, who learns so quickly that he has never had to work himself crippled to acquire a new skill, know about pushing limits? Overexertion, as Yuuta understands, is for the weak. There is no need to press on and on if you're already strong enough.

There is much to be hated about this weakness. He loathes the fact that he has had to overexert himself, because he is being overwhelmed by a more competent (as always) opponent player, or because he has failed, as he is failing now, to master Rising. His Aniki has never had to face that situation. But he doesn't hate it.

One day, when Aniki finds that he must get up when he can't possibly stand any longer, he will not be able to.

But Yuuta will.

And he clings to this scrap of knowledge like a lifeline.

"Would you like it if I helped you train?"

This time, Yuuta nearly smiles. He doesn't, obviously, and merely selects another ball from the inexhaustible pile beside him. His grip shakes around his racket, but he doesn't drop it. He feels that he has just a little bit of power.

_No, I don't need you._

* * *

_Do I need him?_ Yuuta asks himself this question. He is still running. His feet are still torn and bloody. He is still running, and he asks himself this question.

* * *

It is _that_ match.

The one Yuuta plays against Echizen, instead of his Aniki.

The one Yuuta loses.

Despite all he has done to improve himself, despite all other people have done to help him improve, he finds himself yielding to yet another ill-met prodigy. His teammates, especially his manager, are less than pleased.

"Mizuki senpai, I've lost. I'm sorry."

A dreary, hollow feeling opens up in the pit of his stomach when the elder boy turns away without a word.

"Don't worry; he'd like that." Yuuta feels a pat on his shoulder. But that is all.

Not for the first time, he wonders about the looks his teammates give to those in his club who aren't good at playing tennis. He suspects. He dreads. He thinks he is alone. He thinks he is scared.

"Did you know that technique would harm his shoulder, when you taught it to Yuuta?"

Yuuta does his best to forget what Mizuki senpai says in reply to that. Luckily, forgetting is not hard, as everything is blows from his mind when his Aniki's presence spills over the whole court, drowning his senpai in unleashed potential. Aniki's strokes are unlike Yuuta's. They are not power-packed, nor do they thunder onto Mizuki senpai's racket like the wrath of Kami. Instead, they barely touch his racket strings before bouncing off lightly. Yet, his play is dominating and fierce.

It is intense and aggressive enough for Yuuta to notice that something is off. His Aniki doesn't usually play like that.

_Why is he so angry?_

As he watches, an alien feeling flushes his cheeks red when he realizes. Both hands clutching the netting surrounding the battlefield before him, he stares at the figure with his back to him, the slim, short stature that has planted itself between him and his senpai. He is surprised to find that he is not so upset anymore. In coming to terms with the fact that he has used St. Rudolph to wage war on Seigaku, he accepts that they have returned the favor in kind.

Mizuki senpai is right; Yuuta has had to fight, all this time, for the pure purpose of gaining victory for his school.

It is strange, how, after spending so long fighting for other people, this is the first time he has someone fighting for him.

* * *

The answer explodes in his face as he charges head on into the billowing smoke, rocking him like the flames that reach out on all sides.

"Aniki!"


End file.
